


Farewell, My All

by Daase



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canute's past as seen through his brothers eyes, Harald POV, Historical, M/M, Thorfinn will show up later, Thornute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daase/pseuds/Daase
Summary: Cold fingers furled around his clammy hands and squeezed.“Yes King Harald, It is Canute. There is no need to worry about the kingdom.”To hell with the kingdom, Harald thought. The kingdom tore them from their mother – claimed their fathers love and left them nothing but anguish.And now it had claimed his brother, too.
Relationships: Canute/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Farewell, My All

* * *

King Sweyn’s hold, Jelling, Denmark.  
Winter of 997

“Will he be assigned a retainer as well mother?” Harald asked weakly as he balanced the babbling Canute across the carpeted wooden floor. It was a rare treat to be able to excuse himself to go see his mother and baby brother. And rarer still that he could play around like this. If his friends or anyone within the court saw this unmanly behaviour from the older prince, he would surely be viewed as soft of mind and effeminate for a Norseman but little did he care.  
His heart swelled in his chest whenever Canute’s tiny fingers reached out for him, with a soft chuckle the eleven-year-old happily scooped up the giggling child and held him so Canute’s curious little fingers could roam across the intricate tapestry on the wall.  
His question was met with a soft laugh, and Harald’s eyes flickered to his mother. “Do you worry about him, Harald?” She said, and he nodded. He did not wish a man like his retainer for his brother, his joints and fingers still throbbed from the dreadful sword practice and his endless bruises and aches had grown to be more of a norm rather than an inconvenience. Canute had been so small and pale a year ago when he first came to be, and a pang of dread still flared whenever the small boy would fall ill – Harald couldn’t imagine little Canute ever holding steel.  
“Worry not Harald, I picked the man myself – do you remember Ragnar?” Her polish accent was strong and soothing, Harald smiled as he turned Canute in his grip and walked towards their mother who was sitting neatly in her chair. His younger brother peered up at him quizzically for a moment before he reached up to touch a stray lock of his strawberry blonde hair, Harald slicked it back. “I do, he brought us dried apples last yule.”  
His response seemed to please their mother, who smoothened her dress as she smiled at him meekly. “I am glad that you remember such a gift, a good man should always remember and appreciate every gift he is given – a prince even more so.” She said as Harald blinked dumbly.  
He held out Canute towards his mother, but she waved him off. “You hold onto him for a while longer, I do so rarely get to see my boys together.”

* * *

Outskirts of Jelling, Denmark.  
Summer of 998

“We won’t make it!”  
Harald’s breathing was loud and sharp as Canute’s small fingers clung to the neckline of his tunic. The older boy struggled up the dunes of the beach. The wind bolting against their small bodies, threatening to snap the necks of the Lyme grass around them.  
Harald hissed through gritted teeth as his boots sunk into the sand, running up a sandy beach against the wind was no small feat for his scrawny legs.  
Canute would not pay attention to the rapid heartbeat through Harald’s tunic while the older boy blinked away the thick film of moisture forming on his eyes. Harald knew, he also knew Canute would never be able to remember this. Yet he brought him still – for his sake as well as his own.  
He was twelve summers old, Canute was two.  
Canute thrashed in his grip with a wail as snot ran from his little pink nose, his thick blonde mane of hair sticking to it like sand on a snail. “It won’t be long now, have patience!” Harald breathed as he climbed up the last dune until a hint of the ocean appeared on the horizon. Canute was not pleased as he tugged furiously at his older brothers’ hair with his little balled fist.  
That’s where Harald saw it.  
The ship was clear against the rosy colours of the dawn, it’s dragon cutting through the salty waters as the green sail filled. He could scarcely make out the people on board and he cursed his stubbornness. If he hadn’t stolen Canute from his nursery before his nursemaid woke, he may have caught one last glimpse. But little did it matter now, nor did he have any regrets.  
With trembling hands, Harald flipped Canute around in his hold so the little one could face the ocean. Canute emitted an uneasy sound as he looked up, his wet nose brushing against Harald’s chin.  
“Canute, keep your eyes on the ship,” Harald ordered as he pointed out over the water at the fluttering sails. Canute’s eyes followed his brothers’ arm, and the child imitated the gesture with a small chuckle.  
“Mother is right there, and she will never come home again.”  
He blinked his blurry eyes a few more times, but the thick film wouldn’t cease no matter how much Harald wiped his face with his sleeve. It almost made him angry, he wouldn’t be able to see her depart if he cried.  
“Mother?” Canute uttered as his little eyes darted from the boat to Harald.  
Harald choked back a sob as the boat disappeared over the horizon.  
She would never come back, not while their sire still drew breath.

* * *

King Sweyn’s hold, Jelling, Denmark.  
Spring of 1001

Harald knew something was amiss when Tjalfe Ulfsson, his retainer, had given him awkward glances all morning. His swings during practice had been softer than usual – and he hadn’t pressed him to return to his study to practice his Latin with father Toke either. And if there was anything Tjalfe never let him do- it was to skip the dull Latin. Even so, Harald didn’t think to ask what was going on until the slaves passing them in the hall gave him anxious looks.  
“Tjalfe, what is going on – there is something you’re not telling me.” Harald groaned as he peered up at the greying man and noted the crow’s feet on his face twitch ever so slightly.  
His retainer huffed and reached out for the cloth Harald had wiped his sweaty brow with. “There is no reason for you to worry your highness, it will likely pass as it is wont to do. Your sire and I fear that your sentimental nature will be a strain on your education at this point.”  
Harald felt his blood freeze.  
“He’s sick _again?_ ” he asked, his voice cracking as he grabbed the sleeve of his retainer. “And nobody thought to tell me? Where is he-“Harald yelled. The older man sighed and shook his head. “I fear telling you is of no use, your highness. Prince Canute was put into isolation last night – by order of the king.”  
Harald’s eyes widened; this was the sixth time this year, what if it would be his last?  
He didn’t even hear Tjalfe’s yelling when he bolted over the fence and into the courtyard towards Canute’s quarters, nor did he feel the ache when his nails broke as he tried to pry the shutters of Canute’s window open. He was so occupied with his whirling thoughts that he scarcely heard the soft sobbing from the inside, but when he did, Harald froze.  
“…R-Ragnar, something’s clawing at my window.” The little voice cried.  
Harald pressed his ear against the wood, “Canute, it’s just me- open the shutters.” Harald said. The sobbing grew quiet, he heard a sniffle, then a small bump from the inside.  
“…I can’t reach the hinges.” Canute cried.  
“Damnit. Canute, step back from the window.” Harald hissed, he felt around his belt for his dagger and jammed it in the gap between the hinges. He heard Canute cry out.  
“Harald, I’m scared. I d-don’t like the d-dark I-”  
“I know Canute, I know.”  
He pressed as hard as his arms would allow him, and with the twist of his wrist, Harald managed to pry a small gap big enough for him to look through. Dropping his dagger to the gravel by his feet he leaned into the gap and waited a small moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He spotted his little brother’s tuft of hair on the other side, his clammy skin glistening in the tiny ray of light that was let into the room.  
“I can’t make a bigger hole, they say light is bad for you when you’re sick. Forgive me, Canute.” Harald muttered; Canute’s little eyes widened in shock.  
“Will I get sicker now, then?” he asked weakly, walking backwards into the room as if the light from the tiny gap in the shutters would burn his skin.  
“No, I was in isolation three years ago brother, and I didn’t get sicker when Ragnar opened my window on my fifth day. I think you’ll be fine.” Harald inwardly prayed that he would, Canute was all he had left from his exiled mother.  
He saw the little boy hesitate before he walked closer to the window. A small, trembling, pale finger poked through the hole and Harald wrapped his hand around it, Jehovah save him- his finger was so tiny.  
“When you get better, I’ll come play ball with you brother. – so please, get better.” Harald pleaded. He felt the clammy little finger curl in his grip.  


“D-do you p-promise?”  


“I do.”

* * *

It took eight days before Canute was released from his chambers; Harald didn’t get to see him immediately- Tjalfe wouldn’t permit it of course. But he did keep his promise and played a bit of ball with him before Ragnar had to bring Canute back for supper, Canute wasn’t very strong – Harald had ended up gently tossing the ball as the little one had darted back and forth to pick it up from the ground.  


“ _Propterea sicut per unum hominem in hunc mundum peccatum intravit et per peccatum mors et ita in omnes homines mors pertransiit in quo omnes peccaverunt_ \- **your highness, are you paying _attention?_** ”  


Father Toke’s voice cut through Harald’s thoughts like a knife. Harald knew his teacher’s patience was waning with his lack of concentration today- straightening himself in his seat he nodded as he returned his quill to the parchment. The priest’s face softened.  
“you’ve been staring out of that window the entire day, what is on your mind your highness- share with me your mind so that we may continue the lesson undisturbed by intrusive thoughts.” Harald pursed his lips and chewed his cheek- he wished to speak his mind, but his concern could only too well be used against him if heard by the wrong set of ears.  
“Answer me something father Toke, when birds push their young out of the nest and when cats abandon their young– why do they do this? Isn’t this just mindless cruelty?” Toke’s brow rose from Harald’s question, the old priest rose from his seat and approached the window, his eyes glancing into the courtyard Harald had previously stared out of.  
“Sometimes, animals will let go of their young if they know they can’t survive. You could call it a sort of ruthlessness born out of kindness – mercy if you will.” Harald’s shoulders fell.  
“What if the young could’ve gotten better? It is not fair.”  
The old priest shook his head, Harald barely saw the faint outline of a small gathering of people outside before the priest reached out and closed the shutters of the window. “Nothing in this world is fair, your highness.”

Right, nothing ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: In the 11th Century if you were of noble birth or wealthy and got sick you'd be put into isolation. Isolation was usually a bed chamber with darkened windows, and you wouldn't get much human contact aside from the occasional visit by the doctor or a servant who would bring you food and water or to change your chamber pot.
> 
> Canute was canonically very sickly and frail during his childhood, and modern scientists suspect he and his father and brother suffered from what we today call Brugada syndrome, even his own children have been suspected of having the condition. And curiously enough Canute in canon seems to show symptoms of it through his fainting, dizzy spells etc.


End file.
